


Discretion & Valor

by Ruslan Stetson Durai (RumpelstiltskinIX)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Blaise Zabini is Picky, Dark Arts, Dark Comedy, Fraternization, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Herbology Class (Harry Potter), Hogwarts, Hogwarts Prefects' Bathroom, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Blaise Zabini, Slytherin, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumpelstiltskinIX/pseuds/Ruslan%20Stetson%20Durai
Summary: Novelette: Updates every whenever.Whilst the Boy Who Lived and his goony trio are off making scenes, the rest of the year still had to go to school.Enter ambitious but pragmatic Blaise Zabini's world as he hedges his bets on both sides, and mostcertainlydoesn't end up being seduced by some fumbling, round-faced Gryffindor in the process.Written for the Growing Neville fest.





	1. Pretend It's Poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coriesocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/gifts).



> Thank you, [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye), for the tireless beta work, creative input, and enduring my Americanisms.
> 
> Thank you, [Chris](https://tmblr.co/muk9Pieo30MdC7OHodfB0Jw), for being a wonderful and encouraging host.
> 
> Thank you, [Corie Socks](http://untilourapathy.tumblr.com/post/168336309716/posh-teenagers>UntilOurApathy</a>,%20for%20your%20resources%20on%20posh%20teenagers.%0A%0AAnd%20thank%20you,%20<a%20href=), for teasing me into action with the Blaise prompts.

The train rattled away, lights luminescent against dew-beaded windows. Pansy and Draco were not in each other’s laps any more, and Daphne had a look on her face like she couldn’t stand not being a fly on  _ that _ wall.

“How was your holiday?” Draco said to Daphne, smirking as Pansy’s expression soured.

“It was okay,” she drawled, feigning disinterest while twirling carefully styled hair around her finger. “We went to France.”

“Oh, me too,” Draco said smugly. “And Italy.”

“You too?” she smiled. “And the Bahamas.”

“And Laguna Beach.”

“And Montenegro.”

Blaise’s eyes glazed over as they listed all the places they’d gone in one summer. A couple other pure-bloods jumped in. His own family had vacationed, though not to get away: the Zabinis had connections to make and strengthen. He might have been in Slytherin’s good graces for now—the Slug Club included—but that could change at the drop of a hat. The Dark Lord was not known for his graciousness.

Draco was looking hollow in the face, and he doubted it was for lack of lavish banquets. After all, Blaise had been to two of them.

“Any girls in your life?” Pansy said, batting her eyes and kicking him under the table.

“Somehow,” Blaise deadpanned, “I’ve lived without one.”

“So selective!” Pansy laughed.

Blaise turned his gaze back to the compartment’s window. His mother had warned him about looking  _ too _ aligned with any one side. Would the most advantageous position be with an out-of-House girl upon his arm? A Hufflepuff, perhaps? They were more neutral than Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw had taken a strange shine to the Gryffindors after Diggory’s death.

Did he try to seduce a Gryffindor girl on the down-low? There were plenty of pure-bloods, and Ginny’s main requirement seemed to be ‘has a pulse’...but then, that ‘alliance’ was bound not to last long. There was Brown, but she seemed to get  _ too _ attached to potential boyfriends. Most of the Slytherin girls were either too young to have influence, or openly aligned with the Dark Lord.

Pansy was a prefect... but she also moved faster than he had the patience for. Not Ginny-fast, and yet not Diggory-slow either.

“What classes did you get?” Pansy said, leaning in against him with her schedule.

Wordlessly, Blaise retrieved his from where it was tucked into a book.

She was a friend—and she and Draco no longer seemed to be. He highly doubted the payoff had been worth it.  
  


***

One of the few things that hadn’t changed was the Sorting Hat’s jovial indifference. It still sought to plunk an even amount of kids into the Houses with a vague hint of doom. There had been a reduction in the student body for not entirely mysterious reasons (which every House but Slytherin felt). They shared Potions and Dark Arts (not to be confused with  _ Defense Against the _ Dark Arts) with Gryffindor still, Herbology and Muggle Studies with Ravenclaw, and Transfiguration and Charms with the Hufflepuffs. He had to commend the generations-long grudge that must have gone into putting Gryffindors and Slytherins in what was basically a dueling class.

The new Muggle Studies curriculum was a point toward never fucking a Mudblood—just in case.

Draco’s second year of moping was getting old, but at least it got Blaise quasi-prefect privileges; it was nearly mandatory, what with how often Draco was getting out of bed to vomit these days. He didn’t even have the decency to cast a cleaning charm afterward.

What was most intriguing, however... was Dark Arts. The Golden Trio was long gone, as was Professor Snape in a teaching capacity. They had always made for a riveting show. It was a new dynamic: that coward, Longbottom—all alone. Professor Carrow homed in on him immediately, with a predatory smile that Snape didn’t have the pulse left for.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Professor Carrow sneered. “Tell us about the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.”

Sweat ran down the boy’s round face, but his posture was unusually straight.

“Used by criminals,” Longbottom bit out. “To torture people they can’t take down in a fair fight.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Professor Carrow smiled.

Finnigan elbowed Longbottom, but Longbottom was unfazed. Instead, he sat square-shouldered with as much fire in his eyes as there was in his face. It wasn’t a glorious sight, but it was certainly a  _ determined _ one. Like he thought that ridiculous ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ fiasco was going to save them all from a madman with something to prove and a following that was all but swallowing down the Ministry like a snake.

“How about you, Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Carrow called on with a gloating smile.

“It puts the recipient in their proper place,” Draco drawled, “by means of corrective force.”

Longbottom looked at Draco, and Blaise couldn’t shake the strong suspicion that  _ Longbottom _ was weighing pulling a Granger right about then.

Maybe Gryffindor’s spine  _ hadn’t _ gone and run off this year... and maybe it was time to curry favor, just in case.

***

Professor Slughorn was certainly kinder to Longbottom than Headmaster Snape had been as a professor—but that was to say fire was hotter than an unlit kettle. Either way, Longbottom still had much to catch up with in Potions.

He doubted he ever would.

Since Slughorn had taken over Potions, Longbottom often stayed after class to help his classmates clean up. He wasn’t sure if that was to suck up and compensate for all his various shortcomings, or if Longbottom just valued his time so little.

Nonetheless, Blaise took a page from his book – albeit in a more targeted way. He helped Pansy clean up her workspace, and she  _ glowed _ as she gathered up her reagents with him. He made sure to do so at a leisurely pace, which she matched with smug looks cast toward Draco. Draco looked at them, rolled his eyes, and trudged out to what he suspected was another round with the boy’s room toilet.

The students trickled out, all the more efficient Slytherins and Gryffindors long gone. It was Pansy, Blaise, Longbottom, and Patil—whichever the Gryffindor one was—left. Wordlessly, Blaise went back to clean up his space.

“See you later,” Pansy said, a note of question in her tone.

“Obviously.”

Pansy’s face sank, and then she wrinkled her nose like it was a mean joke they were both in on.

He pretended to look for a quillpen nib until Patil left. As soon as she was gone, Blaise gathered up his things and stopped in front of Longbottom’s table. Longbottom’s body tensed, and then he slowly raised his head with pursed lips as his eyes skittered to Slughorn’s desk.

“You’re the best of our year in Herbology,” Blaise said point-blank. “Have anything that can cover up the smell of vomit?”

Longbottom frowned, brow creasing and head tilting. Blaise stared down at him.

“Why?” Longbottom blinked.

“Because one of our Slytherins is a vomit fountain and does not clean up after himself.”

Longbottom blinked again.

“Oh... but then,” he ventured, with a confused scrunch of his face, “wouldn’t you want to treat the cause instead of just the symptom?”

“You’re going to be late, boys” Professor Slughorn lightly announced from his desk, buffing one of his rings on his robes.

Blaise nodded his head to the side, then headed out without another word.

***

His attempt at… enlisting Longbottom? Building another precarious escape route? It had not gone as well as he’d liked, but it had not gone terribly, either.

Longbottom watched him in the halls, frowning and looking like he was but several breaches away from trying his hand at Legilimency on Blaise.

Interesting.

It was not what he’d expected from a boy regularly getting Gryffindor points docked. If Longbottom wanted a fight, he didn’t look like he’d reached the point of picking one with Blaise. He had bigger things to do, like cajole a teacher who held his future in his hands. It seemed Draco was not the only one of the opinion that a Hogwarts education was pointless.

Draco... Merlin, did that boy make a mess… and not just in the lavatories. When he wasn’t bossing them all into this hair-brained scheme, or that miniature war, he was ranting about Potter or in-fighting with no-names. Even with Potter gone off as some wild-eyed fugitive, he still talked about the prat as much as Pansy talked about  _ Draco. _

When Blaise went to the boy’s room at lunch (before Draco; it wasn’t worth it otherwise), he hadn’t expected to be followed. He also figured whoever followed him just really had to urinate, or had more to lose in a fight than Blaise did. He wasn’t  _ actually _ a prefect, but Draco would back him up—and so would Headmaster Snape. There were perks to having the Headmaster be the same House as him—the Gryffindors had enjoyed  _ that _ privilege for far too long.

When he got into the bathroom, he blinked at the mirror. Behind him was, of all people, _Longbottom._ He was wearing a frown like he hadn’t decided whether he should even be here, a question Blaise’s face plainly echoed. Longbottom shifted, then went into a stall. Blaise let out a huff of a laugh under his breath. _Of course_ Longbottom would hide in a stall.

Blaise relieved himself. Halfway through, he heard Longbottom finally doing the same. And yet, as soon as he stopped so too did Longbottom. Blaise washed his hands, not looking up as the sink beside him ran as well.

The water stopped. Something slid across the counter to him, rattling. Blaise looked down. It was some Muggle box of... something, with a lot of writing on it. Blaise dried his hands and picked it up.

“For the nausea,” Longbottom said. “He said you’re supposed to swallow it, with water.”

“... How Muggle,” Blaise said, but tucked it into his robes. “And how do I get the offender to swallow it?”

“I don’t know, you’re the Slytherin,” Longbottom huffed. “Pretend it’s poison.”

Blaise had to bite back a laugh at that, and he turned to look at Longbottom... but he was already gone.


	2. Right Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regular updating schedule did not humor my health and sanity, so this is more an update whimsically sort of deal. I have several chapters ready for release, so there are at least a couple more chapters in the pipeline.
> 
> Content warnings at end.

He left the anti-nausea pills on Draco’s nightstand and hoped against hope.

Come morning, Draco was sounding brighter than he had in quite some time. And by ‘brighter,’ Blaise most certainly did not mean smarter.

“Those Gryffindors,” he sneered like a slur. “Strutting around like they own this place. We need to teach them a lesson.”

‘A lesson’ meant Quidditch, and Quidditch meant scoring points with the Dark Arts professor using some Knee Reversal hexes.

“Quidditch players shouldn’t do it,” Blaise argued. “There’s still McGonagall, and Slughorn listens to her. We could get kicked off.”

“You’re right,” Pansy said, smirking at Draco afterward.

“What, Zabini?” Draco snarled. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Act our age?” Blaise retorted.

Draco made a dismissive gesture.

“Ponce.”

“Get them where we have the advantage,” Blaise answered with an exasperated raise of the brows. “Obviously. We have Dark Arts with them, and Carrow’s practically begging us to miss and hit a Gryffindor.”

Draco curled his lip, but nodded his assent.

***

He suddenly dreaded Dark Arts. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just more of what Professor Moody had shown them... but hands-on. He’d never liked bugs, but he had never felt an especially strong revulsion toward them, either. It was one thing to handle already dead specimens for Potions.

It was just more difficult. That was all.

His eyes landed on Longbottom, and the dread solidified into an icicle in his stomach. Longbottom looked at him, and he could have sworn he smiled faintly. Blaise whipped his head forward. He spied Draco from the corner of his eye, looking smugger than he had all year.

Carrow passed around the insect boxes, and some of the students traded around for specimens they preferred. It was all the same to Blaise: some little creature was going to suffer and possibly die. It seemed especially cruel to refuse a specimen because they were “too cute,” and he had not any aversion to uglier specimens getting out and escaping.

Truth be told, he took some pleasure in the tarantula who had gotten loose from his set-up and kept some of the more squeamish Gryffindors up at night since.

Every class, Longbottom lost the specimen entirely. He would be shocked if Longbottom could pass.

He was too clumsy, after all.

Draco was smirking away, cursing his specimen in a variety of ways. Blaise tended to focus on incapacitation versus decapitation... not out of sentimentality, of course. There were fewer ways to incriminate a man for nonviolent self-defense, after all.

He could cast a hex without cringing since he was twelve.

Draco was openly watching Longbottom, grinning ear to ear as he leaned forward on his desk. The specimen was already dead. Professor Carrow was at his desk, watching idly. Longbottom was none the wiser, trying to find where his cockroach ran off to (to no avail).

“Cruci—!”

“Depulso!”

Draco’s chair shot out from under him, caught his desk, and flipped it all over on him. Finnigan was standing, wand pointed at Draco as he stepped forward. Draco, eyes wide, scrambled away and made an undignified sound.

“D-don’t just sit there!” Draco demanded, voice high.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Professor Carrow sneered. “Finnigan: detention.”

“He tried to torture Neville!” Finnigan cried, teeth gritted.

“Don’t try to make things up, Finnigan,” Carrow sneered, looking quite satisfied.

Finnigan sneered and slammed back down into his chair.

“Make that twenty points,” Carrow yawned.

***

No matter what the other kids did, Longbottom was still his overly helpful self. Blaise found himself watching him more and more. The way he used his non-dominant hand to open the little bug cages, inevitably upending it when he scrambled with the wrong hand for the wand. The way he’d turn his head away from the Slytherins when he was trying to get a look at what they were up to.

The way he was far quicker to recover his wand for an Expelliarmus than a curse.

Neville Longbottom was the most graceless student of their year... and he was fascinating.

This time, Longbottom looked right back at him. Blaise pretended to just be looking at the clock. When his eyes lowered... Longbottom was still staring as he ground a reagent.

When it was time to clean up, Blaise found himself searching for an imaginary nib again. He didn’t bother feigning surprise when Longbottom came up to his desk.

“Are the dungeons smelling better now?” Longbottom said with a pointed look.

“Did you expect a ‘thank you’ card?” Blaise dryly answered.

“It wasn’t a gift,” Longbottom said, glancing away. “It was a favor.”

“A favor?” Blaise repeated, pretending to grasp something under the desk and tuck it into his robe pocket.

“Y-yes,” Longbottom frowned. “Potions. I’m not ...” he gritted his teeth and straightened his shoulders. “I want to catch up.”

“You want me to...” he lowered his voice, “... help you cheat?”

“No!” Longbottom hissed, looking scandalized but lowering his own voice. “I want to be able to pass honestly.”

Blaise raised his brows skeptically. Slughorn was at his desk, seemingly oblivious to the exchange happening in the corner of his room—not that Blaise bought that he was actually oblivious for a moment. He chewed his cheek and shook his head to himself. Longbottom’s throat bobbed, eyes wide with a nervousness he was trying to pinch out of existence by tightening his mouth. Blaise could feel the corner of his own mouth quirking upward.

“Fine.”

“I can get you more—what?”

“Fine,” Blaise enunciated, smirking openly now. “But you have to help me with Herbology.”

Longbottom’s brow furrowed, and he squinted. Then frowned. Then crossed his arms and tilted his head, and pursed his lips again.

“... Fine,” Longbottom finally relented. “When?”

“After lunch, but before class. Meet me in the boys’ room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some homophobia and pseudo-racism (mugglephobia)


End file.
